15: The Submissive Butler(3)

Cecilia stepped up onto the ottoman, so she was just a little above him now. Slowly, deliberately, she sat down, crossing her legs, adjusting the slit of her dress so he’d have just enough of a view to ache.

She lifted one foot in his direction. Her heel hung just loosely enough to dangle.

“Remove it,” she said. “Carefully.”

He did.

Then the other.

Cecilia leaned back slightly, looking down at him with calm precision.

“You’ve done well so far,” she said. “You may kiss my ankle.”

He moved closer, lips brushing her skin with careful reverence.

She watched every movement controlled, sincere, hungry.

He lingered there, lips still grazing her ankle as if unsure whether to pull away or stay. His breath was uneven now, subtle but noticeable, the flutter of wings trapped beneath his ribs.

She let the silence stretch until it felt like silk drawn tight between them.

“Still,” she said softly.

He froze, exactly as instructed.

Good boy.

She watched him for a moment longer, then slowly drew her foot away and placed it beside his knee. He didn't move, only his eyes flickered downward, then back to the floor again. He knew better than to look up without invitation.

"Tonight," she said, voice even, "you will serve."

A slow inhale from him. Controlled, measured. She saw the slight tension in his shoulders. The anticipation. His body already knew what was expected.

She uncrossed her legs and leaned forward, elbows resting lightly on her knees, face close enough that she knew he could feel the weight of her attention pressing down.

"Stand," she ordered. "Then undress. Neatly. Fold everything. Lay it on the ottoman."

His body moved with practiced grace, fluid, obedient. The jacket first, then the shirt, each button undone with precision. No rush. She didn't allow rush. He folded each piece with care, laying them one atop the other like offerings, like proof that he had been something else once. Someone else.

When he reached his belt, his hands slowed.

She said nothing.

He continued.

Within minutes, he stood in front of her, bare. Exposed, present. His eyes stayed downcast, his stance respectful. There was no shame in his nakedness. Only purpose.

She tilted her head slightly. "Do you remember the touch rules?"

"Yes, Miss Cecilia," he said quietly. "I am not allowed to touch. Unless given permission."

She stood again, stepped down from the ottoman, and circled him slowly. Her hand grazed his shoulder as she passed behind him, letting her nails trail just faintly along the line of his spine. His skin responded, a ripple beneath her fingertips. She smiled to herself.

"Good," she murmured. "Then you're ready."

She moved toward the bed, removed her earrings one by one, and laid them on the nightstand. Then slowly her eyes locked on his, undid the sash of her silk robe. The garment slipped from her shoulders and fell to the floor in a puddle of shimmering fabric, leaving her bare before him.

He inhaled sharply, pupils dilating as they roamed over her curves, full breasts, toned stomach, the juncture of her thighs. She saw the effort it took for him to keep his hands clasped behind his back, to not reach out and touch.

His erection jutted out, thick and flushed, a testament to his desire.

Cecilia circled him again, trailing a finger down his chest, over his abs, just brushing the head of his manhood before moving away. His breath hitched but he remained still.

She perched on the edge of the bed, crossing one leg over the other. "Come here."

He obeyed, moving to stand between her spread thighs. She reached out and ran a finger along his shaft, feeling it twitch under her touch.

"You may watch," she said, voice low. "But you may not touch. Understand?"

"Yes, Miss Cecilia."

Her hand wrapped around him, pumping slowly. His eyes fluttered closed, a moan building in his throat.

"Eyes on me," she ordered. "Keep them there."

His gaze snapped back to hers, dark with need.

Cecilia guided him back until he stood just in front of the ottoman. She released him and leaned back on her elbows, knees falling open in silent invitation.

"Kneel," she said simply. "Put that clever mouth of yours to good use."

He sank to his knees without hesitation, hands bracing on her thighs. He looked up at her, silently asking permission.

Cecilia just arched a brow. "Well?"

That was all the encouragement he needed. He leaned in, lips brushing along her inner thigh, trailing higher, higher, until his mouth met her core. He paused, breathing her in, before pressing a long, slow lick through her folds.

Cecilia gasped, back arching slightly off the bed. "Yes," she hissed. "More."

He obliged, lips and tongue working in tandem to worship her most intimate places. His hands gripped her thighs harder as she writhed against his face, urging him on.

"Don't stop," she panted, fingers tangling in his hair. "Fuck, just like that..."

Her climax built swiftly, cresting as he focused his attentions on her clit. Cecilia cried out sharply, hips bucking as pleasure crashed through her in waves.

As she came down, she tugged sharply on his hair. "Enough," she said breathlessly. "Stand."

He released her reluctantly, rising on shaking legs. His cock bobbed in front of him, glistening with pre-cum.

Cecilia eyed it hungrily, then him. "You've pleased me," she purred. "Now it's time for your reward..."

She reached out and grasped his erection, guiding him closer until the tip nudged against her slick entrance. She held his gaze as she slowly sank down, taking him inch by inch until he was fully sheathed inside her.

"Fuck," he grunted, hands flying to her hips to steady himself. "You feel incredible mistress."

She smirked, bracing her hands on his chest as she began to move. "I know slave and you're already so close," she observed, feeling him throb within her. "How desperately you need me."

He could only groan in response, head falling back as she rode him hard and fast, breasts bouncing with each powerful thrust. The obscene sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room, punctuated by their gasps and moans.

"Don't you dare come until I say so," Cecilia warned breathlessly, nails digging into his pecs. "Not until I've had my fill."

"Yes, Miss Cecilia," he panted, jaw clenched tight. Sweat beaded on his brow from the effort of holding back.

She took her pleasure from him ruthlessly, using his body for her own satisfaction. Her climax built again rapidly, urging her movements to become more frenzied.

She felt his body start to tremble beneath her, his manhood throbbing deep inside as he neared his peak. "Please, Mistress!" he begged, voice ragged with desperation. "Please, I need to come! I can't hold it anymore!"

But she simply smirked down at him, her pace never faltering. "Not yet," she purred. "You don't have permission."

Tears of frustration began to leak from the corners of his eyes as she rode him hard and fast, using him for her own pleasure. His begging turned to pleading, then to sobs as she brought herself closer to climax.

"Please!" he choked out between gasps. "Please, I'll do anything! Just let me come!"

Cecilia ignored his desperate entreaties, lost in her own pleasure. She could feel her peak rapidly approaching and she knew she was going to come hard.

But as she crested that final hill, she felt his manhood pulse and jerk inside her. He cried out sharply as he released without permission, his hands fisting in the sheets.

Cecilia froze, every muscle going rigid with shock and anger. She stared down at him in disbelief as his orgasm ebbed, a slow red anger building behind her eyes.

"How dare you," she hissed through gritted teeth. "How dare you come without my express permission?"

He shrank back under her furious gaze, tears now streaming down his face. "I'm sorry, Mistress," he whimpered. "I couldn't hold it. I didn't mean to disappoint you."

"You will be punished for this," she said coldly, slowly lifting herself off of him. She stood at the edge of the bed, glaring down at his prone form. "Severely. And you will thank me for it."

With that, she turned on her heel and stalked towards the bathroom, leaving him to shake and tremble on the rumpled sheets, dreading whatever awful punishments she would surely inflict.